


took you for a ride in summer baby

by lovenote



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Arguing, Biting, Blow Jobs, Dubious Morality, Facials, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Neighbors, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Teacher Negan (Walking Dead), Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-13 03:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovenote/pseuds/lovenote
Summary: Carl can't really see him clearly from so far away, but can make out that he's got a bit of a salt and pepper beard, his hair slicked back neatly. Wait — is that a leather jacket? In a hundred degree weather?





	1. Chapter 1

It's a big house. Impressive, really.

Carl watches from his window. The house across the street has been vacant for a long while — probably due to the price. He lives in a pretty nice neighborhood, being that his dad is the town sheriff and all. Carl's life is cushy, thanks to his parents. He isn't afraid to admit that.

But the house across the street is nice. Like, _really_ nice. Probably the nicest on the block. 

Carl kind of assumed nobody would ever rent it out, but judging by the U-Haul parked outside, he thought wrong. 

The person who hops out of it is what catches his attention. Carl fully expected to see someone, well —  _rich looking._ A whole family, maybe. But instead, the person he sees is just some average guy; middle aged, he thinks. Kinda scrappy looking, to be honest. 

Carl can't really see him clearly from so far away, but he can make out that he's got a bit of a salt and pepper beard, his hair slicked back neatly. _Wait_ — is that a leather jacket? In a hundred degree weather?

Carl watches him more intently now. Mostly to see if he'll die from heat stroke. 

The man moves to the back of the truck, pulling down the ramp and climbing up, taking a few boxes at a time and walking them to the front door. 

Carl is thankful he's never had to go through the process of moving. He's lived in this house all his life. The fact that he'll have to leave it behind for college soon is actually a terrifying thought. 

The man continues to unload boxes, moving them from the truck and into the house with ease. That is, until he drops one marked _glassware_ on the side in huge, bold letters. Carl snorts as he watches the man curse in annoyance, picking up the box and carefully moving it aside.

He watches for some time, and honestly, this guy is pretty entertaining. Carl should be doing homework right now, but what Rick doesn't know won't hurt him.

Except Rick must have gotten off work early, because the routinely sound of jingling keys and heavy footsteps makes Carl jump, being forcefully pulled from his thoughts.

Rick announces that he's home, climbing up the stairs. There's a knock at Carl's door. 

"Come in!" 

Rick steps in, setting his hat on Carl's bed. Carl doesn't turn to look at him, not really bothering to acknowledge his presence. 

Rick sighs, obviously tired from work. 

"Lori called. Left a voicemail on the phone. Got a few papers from school in the mail, too. Picked up groceries, what else — you won't believe what happened at work today —" Rick pauses to look over Carl's shoulder. "What's going on out there?"

"Just some guy." Carl says nonchalantly, nodding toward the window. 

Rick moves to stand next to him and looks curiously out the window, arms crossed.

"Someone moved in?"

"Yeah." Carl replies, though not really listening.

Instead, he returns his attention to the mystery man, who pulls another box out of the truck, hoisting it up and then balancing it on his hip with one arm.

Rick squints. "Let's go say hello."

"What?" Carl asks. Why would they do that?

"It's the polite thing to do." Rick says, as if he was reading his mind.

Carl would argue, but he knows his dad. He's not getting out of this one, so he sighs in defeat, letting Rick walk him down the stairs. They make their way outside and across the street, Rick smiling dumbly with every step. Carl finds this extremely unnecessary, but follows behind him.

They stop in the driveway, and the man turns around to grab another box, but spots them out of the corner of his eye so he turns, looking a bit confused.

Rick holds his hand out. 

"We're uh, from across the street. Thought we'd welcome you to the neighborhood. I'm Rick." 

The man looks at him questioningly, but wipes his hands off on his jeans and takes Rick's hand, shaking firmly.

"Negan." The man replies.

He lets his hand fall to his side. His voice sounds exactly how Carl expected. Negan. Is that his first or last name? Either way, it's kind of weird, but Carl chooses not to say anything.

Negan goes to unload more boxes from the truck, wiping away the sweat gathering on his forehead.

"This is my son, Carl." Rick continues, gesturing to Carl, patting him on the back.

Negan smiles. Carl can see him better now, up close and in daylight. He's attractive, Carl guesses, has to be around his dad's age, but there's nobody else with him; no wife, no kids. What does he need such a big house for?

"Nice to meet you, Rick. You too, Carl." Negan sets the box he's holding down onto the pavement.

"It's been a while since anyone's lived here. Last family moved to Colorado about a year ago, I think. You'll like it. It's real quiet."

Negan looks like he's barely listening to anything Rick is saying. Rick clears his throat. 

"So," Rick tries, "You got any kids?"

"Oh, me?" Negan chuckles, "Hell-fuckin'-no. I actually teach gym at the high school in this district. Bunch of little shits, gotta tell you. Got my hands full enough as it is."

 _A teacher?_ Wow, Carl did not expect that. Especially considering how fancy this house is. How is he affording this?

"Speaking of, I've never seen your boy. You homeschooled?" Negan looks to Carl.

"Oh," Carl says, "No. Not anymore. I was for a while, but it wasn't really my thing. I just got transferred the other day, actually." 

Negan claps a hand onto Carl's shoulder.

"You should stop by and see me sometime. You know, say hello. Hell, maybe I'll even have you this semester. Keep you out of trouble for dad, huh?"

Negan winks and Rick smiles warmly. Carl offers a weak smile, mostly just to please his dad, but doesn't bother to hide the blatant annoyance written all over his face. Negan seems to get a kick out of it.

"Yeah, sure." Carl replies, just eager to get out of the conversation.

"Well," Rick begins, "It was nice meeting you. If you need anything, you know where we are."

"Sure thing, Rick."

As soon as they turn away, Carl rolls his eyes.

Rick is friendly, to a fault. Carl doesn't understand why someone moving in across the street has to be such a big deal, but it seems important to his father. Rick has been kind of lonely since the divorce, so he decides to leave it alone.

When they get home, Carl retreats to his room, opting to lay in bed and read comics. He stays like that for a few hours, lazily flipping from page to page, checking his phone every once in a while as the TV goes off in the background.

Soon enough he's bored out of his mind, climbing out of bed and making his way down the stairs. He peeks into the kitchen, only to see that Rick has an apron on, holding a tray of something, and Carl already has a bad feeling about this. 

"I made cookies. For the neighbor. Want one?" 

"You mean Negan?" Carl looks up at his father. He's gotta be joking. "Is that really necessary? I mean, you've seen the guy, right?"

Rick doesn't seem to be catching on, so Carl explains.

"No offense, dad, but he's kind of weird, and I doubt he's the kind of person who wants his neighbor to bake him cookies or whatever."

Rick rolls his eyes.

"Weird? He seems nice enough to me. Plus, he might be your _teacher_ soon. I'm trying to do you a favor. Look, why don't you take them over, okay? I'm sure it'll impress him."

Carl closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, not in the mood to argue. He looks to his dad, who's covered in flour.

"Fine."

Carl makes his way over to Negan's house, knocking on the door and mentally kicking himself for agreeing to this. It's nearly dark out, the U-Haul is gone and the porch light is on. 

When Negan answers, he's in a change of clothes. This time, he's wearing a pair of plain black sweatpants and a white tank top. His hair is a little mussed, probably from moving and unpacking all day and — is he wearing glasses?

Negan seems a little surprised to see Carl standing there. He runs his hand through his hair, probably waiting for Carl to say something.

"My dad—" Carl says, thrusting the tray of cookies into Negan's hands. "He wanted me to bring these over. Wash the tray before you bring it back."

"Your dad," Negan starts, looking down at the tray. "Baked me cookies?"

It comes out as more of a statement than a question. Negan shifts his weight, leaning into the doorframe and okay, he's kind of hot. 

"Yes." Carl replies. "He thinks doing this shit is important for whatever reason. I tried to tell him, believe me."

Negan laughs.

"Thanks, I guess. It's weird as shit, not gonna lie, but I'm not complaining. They smell pretty fuckin' good."

Carl nods, not really sure what to say to that.

"So, kid. Let's cut the bullshit. You don't have to come see me during school. If you want to, that's fine, but I just said that to keep appearances up for your dad, so don't worry about it."

"Uh, okay." Carl looks at him, a little confused. He hadn't planned on doing that anyway. 

"Just doesn't seem like something you'd really be into, that's all." Negan explains. "You like sports, Carl?"

Carl shrugs. "No, not really."

"Thought so."

What is that supposed to mean?

"I mean, I also teach sex ed, if you're more interested in watching me show a room full of mouth-breathers how to put a condom on using a banana."

Carl pictures it in his head and shifts awkwardly. Negan was strange, and he didn't really have a filter — obviously. But he was kind of funny. Charming, almost.

"No thanks." Carl says, cracking a smile. "Why do you teach if you hate it so much?"

"You're askin' me." Negan sighs. "Guess I got a soft spot for kids, you know? Little ones, mostly, but you can't really teach a 4 year old how to play baseball."

"Yeah." Carl agrees. "Well, enjoy your cookies, or whatever. I'll see you around."

"Yeah."

Negan hesitates for a second before closing the door. Carl begins walking back home, heart beating inside his chest a little louder than before. He doesn't really pay any attention to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finally started my first multichapter C/N series and i'm very excited about it! i will probably be updating pretty frequently depending on how well this first chapter does so make sure to leave kudos and comments letting me know if this is something you're interested in! thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Carl ends up taking Negan's class.

He's a senior; shouldn't even have to be taking gym anymore, but he'd missed out on the credits from constantly ditching a few years back. There were some options when he was homeschooled, but Carl had decided against it.

Thus, he's forced to wear ugly uniforms and dribble a ball back and forth for an hour and a half every other day. 

To be honest, he's kind of glad he has Negan as a teacher.

There's some familiarity there — in the sense that they live right next to each other, and Carl sees him do, like, normal human things. Taking out the trash every morning, getting the mail, that stuff. Because of that, he doesn't see Negan as some weird alien-like creature that only exists within the confines of school.

Plus, he's actually kind of hilarious?

His mouth is just as foul as always. He curses constantly, and the kids seem to get a real kick out of it. Carl doesn't even know how that's allowed or how he's gotten away with it for so long.

Negan doesn't really acknowledge Carl much at all; just as he promised.

That is until the day Carl accidentally throws a dodgeball at someone's face so hard it knocks them unconscious.

 _"Jesus, kid! What the fuck?!"_  

Negan is blowing his whistle, rushing over to the poor guy who's laying limp on the floor, bloody nose and everything.

"I didn't mean to!" Carl pleads. He honestly didn't.

The bell rings, and the rest of the class remains frozen, unsure of what to do.

"Goddamn, these balls aren't even that stiff!"

Negan is leaning over the kid, wiping his bloody nose with his shirt. Carl can see a bit of Negan's exposed torso as he continues to dab the blood away and tries not to stare.

"Ah, _shit_ , whatever. I gotta get the fuckin' nurse. Carl, you're staying. The rest of you can fuck off. Go suck face in the halls or something."

The room filters out, and Carl can hear people whispering. Carl already begins to prepare himself for the rumors that will blossom from this shitshow of a situation. He moves closer to Negan.

"Now that it's just us," Negan starts, "I can say that what you did was kind of, and by kind of, I mean _totally_ , badass."

Negan laughs and then stands, patting Carl on the back. He walks to his office, most likely to phone the nurse. Carl moves to follow him, but Negan instructs him to stay with the kid in case he regains consciousness.

Everything is sorted out eventually. The victim of Carl's merciless dodgeball attack comes to and Carl apologizes, to which the kid reluctantly accepts.

Negan invites Carl into his office for lunch and they laugh about it for a good while.

* * *

It's a week before Negan returns the baking tray.

He delivers it to their door squeaky clean — just like Carl asked. They make small talk for a minute or two, but then Negan is apologizing, saying that he has to go and grade some tests. Carl says his goodbyes, watching him go before closing the door.

On another note, homework is a real bitch.

Carl sighs, throwing his papers down on his bed. How do they expect him to do this _and_ sleep while maintaining a thriving social life?

He decides to take a break. He checks his phone. Ten till nine. 

Carl pulls a comic from his bookshelf, moving to read it by the window. It's dark out already — the sweltering heat of August has dissipated and instead been replaced with a cool breeze that filters through the screen. 

He looks across the street. There's a light on upstairs in Negan's house and that's when Carl realizes that _holy shit_ , he can see clear as day into what looks like Negan's room. 

It feels a bit immoral to be intruding on his privacy like this, but he honestly can't help it. Negan is an interesting guy, so Carl feels compelled to get a glimpse into how he lives.

There's a couple of posters hanging up on the wall behind his bed, which is currently just a boxspring and mattress on the floor. There are some boxes that have yet to be unpacked just sitting there. 

Carl tries to squint and see what else is inside, but then nearly chokes on air when Negan steps into view; he's shirtless, hair wet, a towel clinging snugly to his hips.

Okay, fuck, he did not expect that. Carl stares for a second only to realize that he's out in the open and if he can see Negan, well —

Carl ducks, making sure he's out of sight, and then pokes his head out to take another look.

Negan is lean; skinnier than Carl initially thought, but he still has plenty of bulk. He looks sturdy. Carl watches the way his back muscles flex, broad shoulders glistening, a defined v-line that leads to a barely visible happy trail that's mostly covered by the towel. 

This is so fucked up. Carl knows he should look away, but for some reason he can't. He's stuck there, eyes blown wide, watching Negan, his _teacher_ , his _neighbor_ , shirtless through his bedroom window.

How is he so effortlessly hot? It's mildly infuriating. Carl thinks about how strong he must be, how much bigger and — God, he needs a cold shower.

He forces himself to tear his eyes away from Negan's figure, shutting the blinds and trying to clear his mind.

He definitely does not jack off thinking about it later. 

* * *

The next day at school, Negan approaches Carl in the halls after class. 

"Carl," Negan begins. "I want you to stop by my place after school today. I get off at five, so be there at six." 

Carl tries not to think back to last night when Negan places his hand on his shoulder. Negan doesn't elaborate; just walks away after Carl agrees. 

Carl stops by Negan's place at six, just as promised. He knows he's home because his car is parked in the driveway. Carl's unsure what this is about, and thinking about it makes him feel a bit uneasy. 

Negan opens the door when Carl knocks, changed out of his work clothes and into a plain white shirt and that ridiculous leather jacket. 

"Carl! Come on in, kid." 

Negan nearly pushes Carl inside. It's only now that Carl gets a good look at the interior of Negan's house and _wow_ , it's nice. 

Carl stands there, hands shoved inside his pockets, waiting for Negan to explain. 

"So," Negan begins, clapping his hands together. "You're probably wonderin' why I invited you over here."

Carl nods.

"Well, Carl, I invited you over because I saw something quite interesting the other day."

Carl's palms are sweating. Why the hell is Negan being so vague and strange?

"What did I see, you ask?" Negan cracks a big smile. Something about it seems condescending. "Great fuckin' question. Well, Carl, what I saw was you! Lookin' right at me through your fuckin' window. Can you believe that?"

Carl freezes.

"Yeah, I saw." Negan draws out the words, seemingly enjoying watching Carl realize he's been discovered. "Bet you thought you were bein' all sneaky, didn't you? Did you at least enjoy the show?"

Negan pokes his tongue between his teeth.

"It's not like that." Carl sputters, crossing his arms defensively.

"Look, _I get it_. You're a teenager, can barely keep your dick in your pants, seeing an elbow gives you a stiffy, all that fun stuff. But if you're crushin' on me, we gotta nip that in the bud right the fuck now."

"I already told you, it isn't like that!"

It's kind of a lie. It is a lie. Carl continues to be defensive anyway, because he can.

"Sure." Negan rolls his eyes. "I mean, I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't flattered. You're a sweet little thing, Carl. Got those baby blues and pouty little lips workin' for you real nicely. Bet the guys love that."

Carl can feel his face heating up, growing redder by the second. He wills himself not to get hard in his jeans.

"But you're my student. Not to mention I'm three times your age, so I'm shutting that shit down. Now."

"That's why you invited me in? To lecture me about this? Look, I just —" Carl fumbles over his words, not quite sure how to explain himself out of this one.

"I'm not above fucking you." Negan explains. "You're old enough to make your own decisions. It's just that I can sense that shit would get _real_ complicated, and I'm not sure I'm up for that. Your dad is also the fucking sheriff, need I remind you." 

Carl wonders how Negan even knows that. 

"Look, it's fine! I wasn't even asking you to! I didn't even mean to look! Can we just move on from this?"

Negan hums, laughing through his nose. "Sure. No skin off my back. Just had to make shit crystal clear." 

There's an awkward silence. 

"So, when's daddy gonna be home?" Negan questions. 

"Couple hours, I guess." Carl shrugs. God, the tension is killing him.

Negan moves to the kitchen, leaving Carl standing there dumbly. He opens the fridge, retrieving two beers, then walks back over and hands one to Carl.

"While you're here, might as well." 

Carl stares at the beer that's been pushed into his hand. Sure, he's drank before — all teenagers do. But being encouraged to by a full grown adult was another thing. He thinks to his clean cut, rule follower of a dad. A man of the law. Carl doubts that would stop him from ripping his head off if he ever found out about this.

"How the hell did you get a job teaching kids?" Carl asks, bewildered.

" _Please_ ," Negan laughs, "One beer isn't gonna get you drunk, and if it does, I'm jealous. You don't have to take it. If you don't want it, I think I have some milk that's gone off and a bottle of flat sprite."

"It's fine." Carl says, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. God, beer tastes like straight piss. He continues to drink anyway, though.

Negan ushers them to the couch, pretty much the only piece of furniture that's been set up so far. They plop down onto it, leaving reasonable space between them. Mounted on the wall across from it is a decently sized flat screen TV. 

"Do you do this with everyone?" Carl asks.

"Shit, no, I don't. But you tickle me, Carl. Really. Just tickle me fuckin' pink. Somethin' about you is totally badass. I like you."

Negan leans into the couch, taking the remote from the floor and turning the TV on. Carl swallows. Knowing that Negan likes him, enough to invite him into his home, makes him feel strangely proud.

"Don't you think it's kind of creepy to have me over? Like, won't people be suspicious or something?"

"Suspicious of what?" Negan quips. "Don't get your hopes up. I already told you, we aren't getting up to anything. If you want to leave — there's the door. I'm just trying to be friendly. You're the one who thought it would be fun to play peeping tom."

Carl opens his mouth to say something, but Negan cuts him off.

"Cable isn't set up yet. I have some movies in that box over there if you want to take a look." Negan gestures to the box sitting in the corner.

Carl gets up, setting his beer on the floor. He sits on his knees next to the box, rummaging through it. Negan has weird taste in movies. These are all cheesy horror flicks from the eighties. 

Carl picks one up that catches his eye. _'Zombi 3'_ the cover reads.

"You think you'd survive a zombie apocalypse?" Carl mumbles, looking to Negan. 

Yeah, Negan would probably dominate the shit out of zombies. He already looks like he'd fit right into a post-apocalyptic type world. He kind of reminds Carl of a guy out of a comic or something. Boisterous and cheery with that crucial addition of villainous charm.

"Hell, yeah." Negan says. Wow, he didn't even need time to think about it. "What about you?"

"Maybe." Carl says, pondering the thought. 

Carl eventually decides on Carrie, which turns out, is Negan's favorite. He pops the disc into the Blu-Ray, hurriedly sitting back onto the couch.

They're about half way through the movie when Carl asks him — just after Carrie flips Billy's car over with her super awesome telekinetic powers.

"How do you live here?"

"What?" Negan asks. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie.

"You're a teacher," Carl elaborates, "So how did you even afford this?"

It's only after Carl says it that he realizes it probably sounded rude. He wants to apologize, but Negan doesn't seem too bothered.

"Ah," Negan sighs. "Life insurance. My wife, Lucille, it was important to her. She bumped it up about two years before, you know. I'm sure you've noticed I don't have a Misses Negan around."

"Oh." Carl had noticed. He just figured Negan wasn't the settling type. "Yeah."

"It was just a thing she did. Told me that if anything ever happened to her she wanted me to be taken care of, you know, financially."

"What happened?"

"She got diagnosed with cancer. She was healthy. That's what gets to me. It was like," Negan pauses, taking a sip of his beer. "God, it was like one day she was fine, and then —"

Carl listens intently, more invested now. He turns his body to face Negan.

"I loved her. Loved her so fuckin' much. I didn't fuckin' deserve her. I was the scum of the fuckin' Earth. I'm not a good man, Carl. I cheated on her all the time. I still don't know why. Nobody's ever compared to her. Even though I was always out, getting my dick wet, she stayed. And she knew. The whole time."

Carl wonders why Negan is choosing to tell him this. This entire situation is kind of fucked, actually.

"She could've had so much better than me. That's what kills me. I hate that I was the last person she saw before she fuckin' kicked the can." Negan pauses. "Can you imagine that? Just staring back at the person who hurt you the most as you're fuckin' taking your last breath? That eats me the fuck up inside."  
  
"Anyways," Negan sighs, realizing he's probably overshared. "That's my tragic fuckin' backstory. You wanted to know. I moved to this side of town to get a fresh start, I guess. I didn't spend any of the money for a long time, but I just couldn't spend another day in that house. It's just a bonus that my ride to work is shorter now." 

Carl shifts, not really sure what to say. He wants to offer Negan some sort of comfort, but he doesn't know how. Negan senses the tension and opens his mouth again.

"Noticed you and your dad don't seem to have a third hanging around. Wanna tell me about that?"

"I don't think you're supposed to ask those kinds of questions." Carl laughs, reaching for his beer. 

"Shit, kid. I just got done telling you about my dead wife. Least you could do is give me some details to your undoubtedly messed up life. You got a fucked up mind, Carl? I know it's probably a mess in there. You did knock a kid out cold with a dodgeball. Got some unbridled rage you stuff deep down in there?" 

Carl scoffs.

"I guess you could say that. When I was 14, my dad got shot on duty. He went into a coma. It was bad. A few months in, the doctors started telling us that we should probably be making arrangements in case he doesn't make it."

Negan hums, encouraging him to go on. 

"My mom thought he was going to die. We all did. So she cheated on him with Shane, his best friend. I kind of saw that coming. But then," Carl pauses, "Then he woke up. Dad found out, obviously. He still tried to stay with her for a while after, for me, mostly — but it didn't work. Shane shot himself. I don't really know why. Maybe he felt guilty for, like, ruining our lives or whatever. Not long after the divorce, Lori fucked off to start a new family with someone else. Apparently she's pregnant now, I don't know. She writes to me sometimes, but I don't respond."

"Yeesh, that _is_ fucked up." Negan whistles, genuinely surprised. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, yeah. Spare me." Carl sighs. "I'm sorry, too."

Carl feels bad for spilling all of his family's secrets, but for some reason, he knows he can trust Negan.

"Thanks, kid." Negan checks his watch. "Look, it's getting late. You should go."

"Yeah." Carl says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking the time. It's nearly nine. "Thanks for having me over, I guess."

Negan nods. Carl hops off the couch, making his way to the front door.

He doesn't miss the way Negan watches his ass as he walks out.  


	3. Chapter 3

Over the span of the month, Carl finds himself spending a lot more time with Negan.

After that little talk they had, they both found that they related to each other more than they had initially thought. Thus, a friendship had blossomed, albeit slightly dysfunctional, considering Carl kind of wants to fuck him, and Negan has thirty plus years on him. 

Still, though, it's good. They keep a safe distance and Carl learns a lot of new things about Negan. More stuff about his past, what led to him becoming a teacher, his favorite books and TV shows and music. Hell — he even knows what his favorite cereal is.

Cocoa puffs, if you're curious.

Carl shares a lot with Negan as well. It's unlike him to be so open, but it feels good to have someone to confide in. With Negan, Carl feels like he can be himself; like he can be truly honest, which is something he doesn't really get at home or anywhere else. 

Carl has lunch with him almost daily, chatting with him over cardboard-esque food the cafeteria serves in the comfort of his office. They see each other outside of school, too, but that one is kind of obvious.

Negan lets him stay over at his house often, if only for a few hours. Rick is pretty much always at work, and Carl gets bored.

He has friends, don't get him wrong, it's just that, well, he prefers Negan's company more.

Part of him does worry if this sort of thing seems weird to others. Hanging out with your teacher after hours at his house is a bit strange but considering the circumstances, it really isn't.

Plus, Carl hardly sees Negan as his superior in any way. 

Their relationship is friendly, and Negan gives Carl more respect than pretty much anyone else he knows.

Carl has definitely grown to value their relationship. It's like their own, special thing. A shoulder to lean on and a face to vent to when things get especially bad at home.

Negan does his fair share of that, too. 

Carl sits on the steps outside of his house. He's not sure what time it is, but it seems to be about noon, if he had to guess.

He looks across the street. Negan's car is in the driveway and his garage door is open.

There's a bit of a ruckus, Carl can hear familiar laughter and unfamiliar voices. Negan is hanging out with someone, a group, Carl thinks. He looks closer — are they  _kids from school?_

There's a ping pong table set up in the middle of the garage, and they're all surrounding it. 

Carl watches more intently, in a totally inconspicuous and _not_ jealous way — or at least that's what he tells himself. Sure, it's just a friendly game of ping pong, but still. Since when did Negan invite just anyone over to his house?

Negan is laughing. The kid he's talking to looks deflated as he switches out to let his friend take his place.

Negan grins, throws the ping pong ball up in the air and catches it in his palm. He looks like he's about to serve but then he's stopping, putting his paddle down and waving at Carl from across the street.

"Carl! Get your ass over here!" 

Of course Negan would spot him. Only his luck. Negan's voice is faint despite the fact that he's obviously yelling. He's still waving and Carl rolls his eyes, but stands up, walking across the street. Negan says something to the kids that Carl can't hear. 

When he makes it over, walking into the garage, Negan greets him with a smile.

There's five other kids, one playing, one keeping score, and the others just watching.

Carl stands a bit awkwardly. He never has been good at socializing; it's especially difficult when you already have a bit of a personal vendetta against the people you're supposed to be making friends with.

"Glad you could come join the party. You looked like a kicked puppy watching from all the way over there."

"Hardly." Carl says, folding his arms.

He takes a seat in the lawn chair that's in the corner, having no intention of actually participating at any point.

"Watch this, Carl. You're gonna wanna look real hard. I'm about to make ping pong my bitch. You ready, kid?" 

Negan looks to his opponent and Carl fights not to show how angry it makes him that Negan just called him 'kid'. That's _his_ thing.

The other kids are looking at him a bit strangely. He wishes he'd just stayed inside.

Negan serves. He and the kid take turns striking the ball, back and forth, back and forth, but then Negan hits it especially hard and it lands on the kid's side, bouncing off the table.

He does that a few more times, and Carl thinks he's won? Maybe? He's obviously not well versed in sports. Is ping pong a sport?

"Fuck, yeah!" Negan yells. "If I had a wrist that weak, I'd need _three_ pictures of your mom to blow my load! Now, which one of you little pricks is next?"

Carl laughs quietly, but the other kids stay quiet.

"What? Tough crowd?" 

The kid speaks up. He looks wounded. 

"Actually, we probably should get going."

The others nod, semi-reluctantly, one of them moving to check his watch. Carl can't tell if they're so eager to leave all of a sudden because of his presence or Negan's incredibly inappropriate joke. Maybe both.

"Thanks for having us over. See you at school." 

Negan nods.

The kids leave, collecting their things, waving as they go. When they're gone for sure, down the street a ways, Negan cackles loudly. 

"Ah, shit. That was funny as hell. Did you see their faces? They were totally pissed!" 

Carl hums. Negan is looking at him expectantly.

"You okay, kid?"

"Yeah. Can I come in now that they're gone?"

Negan makes his way toward the door. Carl stands. 

"I don't know. I have some tests to grade. Was gonna get to it right after they left. You should see the fuckin' chicken scratch some of these little assholes write in." Negan picks up a piece of paper from a stack that's sitting on a workbench. "You'd think it was their first time ever picking up a pencil — I mean, look at this shit! There's _no way_ that wasn't intentional!"

The handwriting looks like that of a blind two year old, and _'come talk to me when you can write something semi-legible'_ is written at the top in red pen.

"I'm coming in." Carl says blankly, making his way to the door and moving past Negan. 

Negan throws his hands up in defeat, but lets him, follows behind after grabbing the stack of papers. Carl makes his way to the couch, grabbing the remote to turn the TV on.

"Why do I let you get away with so much shit? Waltzing into my fuckin' house like you own the damn place." 

"Because I'm your favorite?" Carl replies matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, don't jerk yourself off too hard, there. By the way, I _know_ you don't have asthma. You just told the nurse that to get out of doing laps." 

Carl shrugs. 

"Guess these can wait. Not like any of them fuckin' care about their grades, anyway. Hope they remember that when they don't graduate." Negan sets the stack of papers onto the coffee table. "You want a drink?"

"No, thanks."

Negan mumbles a _suit yourself,_  shuffling into the kitchen to grab himself a water. When he makes his way back, Carl is looking at his phone, not bothering to even acknowledge his presence.

Negan rolls his eyes. Teenagers.

"You're in a pissy mood today, you know that? You planning on telling me what's up or are you just gonna mope all over my couch until I kick you out?"

Negan takes a seat next to Carl, propping his feet up. The couch dips with his weight and Carl still isn't looking at him.

It's petty, he knows it, but he can't stop himself from saying it. 

"Why did you have them over?" Carl asks, pausing for a second. "I'm just asking since, like, from what I know, you kind of actually hate them."

Negan looks at him, clearly amused and thrown off by the question. 

"They live around here. A few of 'em saw me washing my car out front — really just blows their fuckin' minds to see a teacher outside of school. So I invited them in for some ping pong, logically, because ping pong is fucking awesome." Negan smiles. "Why? You feel threatened?"

"No." Carl lies. 

"Ping pong brings people together, Carl."

Carl doesn't say anything to that, instead directs his focus to grabbing the Ps4 controller lying on the floor and opening Netflix.

"You want to order a pizza?"

That's what they usually do. Sit, talk and eat until Rick comes home and Carl has to excuse himself. 

"Okay." Carl mumbles. "No olives." 

They end up watching some strange documentary about marine life. Negan talks his ear off about how insane the ocean is, how much of it is undiscovered, and how mermaids do, in fact, exist. 

When the pizza guy comes Carl pitches in ten dollars, and Negan tips him extra well. 

They eat and watch in silence, mostly. Negan will occasionally start spewing off about work and kids and grading papers, to which Carl will grunt in acknowledgement despite only half-listening to the things he's saying.

Once the documentary is over and the pizza is finished, Negan turns the TV off, standing up to throw the box away. He seems almost eager to get away and Carl knows he shouldn't be offended, considering he does have a life outside of hanging out with a weird teenager. 

"Thanks for hanging out, kid, but I really gotta get to grading these tests. Your dad still at work?" 

Carl nods, standing. He's not hurt, really. He makes his way to the door, Negan following closely behind. His hand rests on the doorknob, but the need to speak the question that's sitting on his tongue into existence is too much to ignore. 

"This is still, like, our thing, right?" Carl blurts out.

Negan is looking at him, a little confused. Honestly, he had completely forgotten about those kids but Carl is obviously hung up on it. 

"Duh." Negan confirms. "You know, if I didn't fuckin' know better, I'd think you were jealous. You still crushin' on coach?"

Carl turns around at that — they don't really talk about that much anymore. Yes, Carl most definitely jacks off to the thought of Negan; has watched him through his bedroom window more than a handful of times since the first incident and yes, Negan probably knows that, but still. It's like, an unspoken rule.

Negan takes a step toward Carl. It dawns on him that he's been waiting for an answer.

Carl doesn't want to ruin what they have — he truly enjoys their current relationship — but Negan is so close and his heart is beating inside his chest so hard he's sure it's going to burst out of his ribcage so Carl takes a step forward.

They're close now. _Very close_. Carl has to fight not to shudder when he feels Negan's breath against his face, trying his best to remain deadpan. Negan cocks an eyebrow, but doesn't back away. In fact, he's completely still.

That's gotta be a sign, right?

The silence is unusual and uncomfortable and Carl decides _fuck it_ , he's not going to wait any longer for this, twisting stomach be damned.

"Yeah."

With tentative fingers, Carl reaches to cup Negan's jaw and pulls him down into a kiss.

Their lips slot together and there's a moment of panic because fuck — Negan isn't kissing back.

Carl's thoughts are going a mile a minute, and suddenly there are a dozen other ways this situation could have played out that doesn't involve Carl embarrassingly forcing himself onto his neighbor and goddamn gym teacher.

It feels like hours, though it's probably only been a few seconds.

In Carl's mind, he can already see Negan pushing him off of him, kicking him out, moving away, never speaking to him again and he wants to scream — but then Negan is kissing back, slowly. Contemplatively.

And it's _perfect_.

Carl gasps and Negan deepens the kiss a little, pressing into it, and it's the best thing Carl has ever experienced.

Not only because Negan is a very good kisser, but because it's _Negan_. All the nights he's spent thinking about this, and it's finally happening. It sends jolts of electricity throughout his entire body and he shivers because they're not supposed to be doing this, which makes it even more exhilarating.

Kissing Negan is so much different than the kisses Carl's shared with others. It's not a coy, shy peck on the lips in passing or a sloppy, inexperienced clashing of teeth and tongue. Instead it's slow, controlled, overwhelming and _so_ fucking good.

Truthfully, Carl doesn't have a ton of experience under his belt, so it's difficult to keep up, but he tries.

Negan is patient with him, leading them, and Carl relaxes, moving to rest his hands on Negan's chest. His brows furrow and his head is swimming but he breaks the kiss, pulling back to look Negan in the eyes.

Carl needs to know for sure that he wants this — whatever _this_ is. He's looking for some kind of confirmation, because there's a hell of a lot at risk here.

He's met with an intense stare, one that makes something stir deep inside of him.

They shouldn't, and Negan knows it. He really, _really_ does. But Carl is so fucking _beautiful_ and then Negan's on him again, kissing him more intensely than before. One of his hands fall to Carl's waist while the other has a firm grip on the back of his neck.

It's not long before the kiss turns dirty — Negan's licking into him like they've done this a thousand times, biting and sucking at his bottom lip every so often and _fuck_ , that's hot.

Negan's hands move to the small of Carl's back and down further to cup his ass, forcing their bodies closer, and Carl is now intensely aware of the fact that's he's half hard despite only having been making out for like, two minutes. 

Negan notices, kind of hard not to — no pun intended, and chuckles into his mouth, rolling his hips a little and fisting a hand into Carl's hair, tugging experimentally.

Carl moans and that seems to do something for Negan, because then he's backing Carl up against the wall, effectively trapping him. He roams his hands over Carl's slim body, feeling him out, squeezing his waist and ghosting over his hipbones with his thumbs.

Carl's arching into it, breathing heavily through his nose as Negan continues to touch him.

"You know how badly I've been wanting to do this?" Negan mumbles. "How hard it's been to keep myself in check? _Do you?_ "

He's so dangerously close to where Carl needs him to be and he's tired of waiting so he hooks his fingers into Negan's belt loops and pulls him closer.

"Show me."

That seems to surprise Negan, but then he's laughing.

"What the fuck are you doing to me, Carl?"

_"Please."_

Negan mutters something under his breath and then he's leaning back in to kiss Carl's neck. Carl eagerly tilts his head to the side, exposing more skin, offering himself completely.

Negan's beard scratches against Carl's skin as he nips and sucks, leaving a trail of wet, biting kisses that will undoubtedly bruise. Negan bites hard at the junction of his shoulder, simultaneously reaching down to palm Carl through his jeans and Carl's whole body goes limp — has to twist his shaking hands into the leather of Negan's jacket to keep himself upright.

The friction is so, _so_ good — he's involuntarily thrusting into it, chasing the warmth of Negan's palm, but then Negan pulls his hand away, and Carl wants to beg, but then he replaces it by forcefully pressing his own hardness against Carl's thigh. 

"You feel that?" Negan asks, "You feel how fuckin' hard you get me? I could crack steel right now."

Negan's deliberately rolling his hips and Carl stifles a moan.

"Yeah," Carl says breathily, "Shit."

Negan grabs Carl's wrists, pinning them above his head.

"C'mon," Carl begs. "Been waiting for this."

Negan growls — actually growls — as he rolls his hips down once more before letting go of Carl's wrists, reaching between them and popping the button to Carl's jeans with a skillful hand. He tugs at the zipper, wasting no time in dipping inside Carl's boxers to pull him out. 

Carl's hands fly to wrap around Negan's neck, whimpering at the feeling of Negan finally, _finally_ touching him. His hands are warm — so much bigger than Carl's own and they move to stroke him slowly, teasingly. Torturously. He thinks he sees stars when Negan does his wrist just right, moving in to lick a stripe across Carl's neck. 

"Negan," Carl's voice is pleading.

"Do you think about me, Carl? When you're jackin' yourself off?" 

Negan places a wet kiss to the shell of his ear. Carl shudders. 

"Yes — yeah, god," 

Carl is delirious at this point, can't even bring himself to lie and Negan hums at his response, rewarding him with faster stokes, relishing in the way Carl gasps and lets his eyes fall shut before he pulls away. 

Carl's eyes blink open again, wondering why Negan has stopped, but then he looks down and sees him fumbling to unbuckle his belt and _fuck_.

The head of Negan's cock is peeking above the waistband of his boxers and Carl reaches down to touch.

He smears pre-come as he quickly pulls him out the rest of the way and Carl straight up moans at the sight of his cock. It's — big. Bigger than his own, but not intimidatingly so. He wants it inside of him. In his mouth. Buried deep in his ass. Wherever the fuck Negan wants, he'll let him. 

But Negan seems to have a different idea.

He pushes Carl's hand away, spitting into his own before pressing back up to Carl, taking their cocks together in an enclosed fist. Carl whines and Negan begins jerking both of them off with long, slow strokes. He flicks his wrist when he comes back up and Carl's head hits the wall.

"Thought you might like that."

Carl bucks into it, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and chewing on it to stop himself from letting out embarrassing sounds.

It's so fucking good, everything he'd imagined and _god_ , has he imagined. Negan is so close but Carl wants him _closer_ , wants to feel him under his skin, engulfing him completely, driving him crazy.

Negan's free hand snakes under Carl's shirt, ghosting over his torso and teasingly brushing over one of his nipples. Carl lets out an choked-off moan that Negan mentally files under jerk-off material for later.

The sounds coming from them are wet, obscene, nearly drowned out by bated breath and tiny moans. 

They fall into a rhythm, Carl is jerking his hips into it and Negan is pumping them hard and fast, just the way Carl likes it, and then they're kissing again, sloppy and perfect. 

Carl is close — can tell that Negan is too by the way his thrusts grow more erratic.  

"Fuck, I'm gonna —"

"Yeah."

Carl's hips stutter, and he comes with a whine, spilling over Negan's fist and _fuck_ , if that isn't the hottest thing Negan's ever seen.

Carl opens his eyes, brows furrowed and eyelids half closed. Negan is staring back at him; looking like he wants to burn this into his memory permanently. Carl digs into Negan's shoulders with blunt nails as he continues to stroke them both, using Carl's come as extra lubricant.

Negan's hand stills after a few seconds and then he's coming, too, leaning in to kiss Carl, more tenderly this time, licking at his bottom lip. Carl opens up for him eagerly, pressing back and sighing into it.

After a few seconds they break apart, panting.

Carl's legs feel like Jell-O and Negan takes a step away to tuck himself back into his boxers. Carl does the same, wincing at the sensitivity and the uncomfortable feeling of drying come.

They stand in silence for a moment, trying to collect themselves, tension hovering above them like a chord about to snap.

Negan presses his hand against the wall, leaning into it.

"Fuck," Negan breathes. "Fucking fuck. We are so fucked."

Carl stays quiet; they probably shouldn't have done this, yeah, but he kind of already wants to do it again. 

"Yeah," Carl sighs. It takes a minute for him to work up to saying it. "Do you regret it?"

Negan turns to look at him. "Hell fuckin' no."

* * *

Turns out, hiding hickeys is incredibly difficult.

It's a day later and they look even more heinous than before. Carl silently curses Negan.

Thank god Rick works late hours, because Carl has no idea how he'd be able to explain this had he seen him yesterday. 

Carl honestly figured he would just avoid Rick until the marks went away — though he didn't really think that through, because Rick isn't working today, and he's currently calling Carl down for breakfast. 

Three Wikihow articles and no luck later, Carl figures that his best bet is an old turtleneck pulled from the very back of his closet.

He puts it on, hopes for the best, and climbs down the stairs, greeting his father as he takes a seat at the dining table.

Rick is eyeing him a bit suspiciously, but says nothing as he serves Carl a plate of bacon and eggs. Rick takes the seat across from him, sipping coffee quietly from his mug.

After about five minutes of awkward silence and pretend-reading the Sunday paper he finally speaks up.

"So," Rick begins. "You gonna tell me why you're wearing a sweater in August?"

Carl reaches for the orange juice.

"I'm being fashion forward."

Rick rolls his eyes, standing up to reach over the table and tilt Carl's chin, pulling the sweater down to expose a trail of purple and yellow bruises. Carl flushes. Rick releases him, plopping back into his chair.

He's not mad. Carl knew he wouldn't be. He's more worried about the prodding questions. 

"You should know by now that I know when something is up with you — I'm a cop, for Christ's sake. You can tell me things. I was a teenager once too, you know."

Carl pokes at his eggs.

"You're eighteen. I just want to know what's going on in your life."

Carl rolls his eyes. He appreciates the efforts his dad makes, he _really_ does, but he can't exactly give him honesty even if he wanted to.

"Don't you think it's a little weird? I mean, it's not a particularly easy or fun conversation to have with your dad." Carl explains.

"I get it. I'm not asking to know every single detail. I know you value your privacy. I just wanna be there for you, Carl. _At least tell me what he's like?_ "

"It's just some guy from school," Well, that's not exactly a lie. "I — we aren't dating. It's complicated."

Rick hums, taking a bite of toast.

"As long as you're being safe. Hope someday I'll get to meet him."

Carl snorts into his glass.

"Yeah, maybe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that sure was something ... i hope everyone is enjoying so far! this chapter is a favorite of mine so thank you if you're reading! feedback is appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

It's been _three_ days.

Three days, and Negan hasn't said a word to Carl.

It's weird, considering Negan can never seem to _shut up_. That doesn't change, though. He's his usual self at school, laughing with other students and busting their balls like always. 

But when it comes to Carl, Negan won't even _look_ at him. 

Negan isn't one to avoid confrontation; in fact, he seems to love it, which just makes this whole situation that much more insulting and infuriating.

Carl tries.

Tries to get his attention as desperately as someone possibly can without _actually saying_ that's what they want. His efforts are fruitless, Negan carelessly brushing him off every time.

When he makes his way into Negan's office on Monday to have lunch, something that they _always_ did, he coincidentally wasn't there.

When Carl drives home from school and Negan's car is in the driveway, he doesn't bother stopping by.

This obviously has something to do with last week's events. Was Carl really _that_ bad? Negan was probably having regrets already. 

Carl tries not to be disappointed. He tells himself he's not hurt — but there's a dull ache in his chest that he's consciously aware of, and yeah, he's miserable. 

Once Carl's inside his house he drops his bag, floorboards creaking as he walks to the stairs and up to his room. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out. A text from Rick, letting Carl know he'll be home early. 

Wonderful.

* * *

"This is pathetic." Negan scratches at his beard. "Seriously. You guys can't shoot a ball into a net from _three fucking feet_ away?"

Negan blows his whistle, which startles the group of kids who are lazily dribbling, not really doing much of anything. 

"Can I get someone who actually knows what the hell they're doing up there, please? If you want to sit around doing jack shit, just ditch. No point in coming here if you're not going to participate."

The kids are whispering among themselves, clearly annoyed. Someone steps up, taking the ball and shooting it into the basket. 

Fucking _finally_. 

Honestly, he doesn't really care what these kids do — or at least, he normally doesn't. Taking out some frustration on them won't be the end of the world. Especially because he's just telling them to do what they were _supposed_ to be doing in the first place. 

Negan's been on edge the past few days. Probably because he accidentally slipped up and jacked off one of his students. 

Yeah, that's probably why. 

To be fair, it's not the guilt that bothers him. Negan doesn't feel guilty at all. Why should he? Carl is legal and was fully consenting, which is all that really matters in his book. It's more about the fact that Carl is his _student_. 

Sure, Negan doesn't _see_ him that way — Carl is more of a friend than anything, but there's a difference between eating pizza and watching movies and jacking each other off to completion.

Had the circumstances been any different, Negan would be all for it. If Carl and him had gotten to know each other through  _any_ other way that wasn't school, he probably wouldn't have had a second thought about any of it.

But the circumstances _aren't_ different, and it happened, and it's done. 

Negan doesn't have the best moral compass, and if he's being honest, the whole teacher-student thing doesn't even bother him.

It's that if the board were to find out; if Carl were to let it slip even once they'd be up to their ears in shit. Negan cares about the kid, and he doesn't want to ruin his life. 

Putting distance between them is for the best, even if it fucking sucks. 

And it does suck.

It takes so much strength to stay away, but he does. For him. 

Honestly, his infatuation with Carl scares him a bit.

It's been a long time since he's been so fond of someone, but how couldn't he be? On top of being one of the most interesting people Negan's ever had the pleasure of knowing, he's also just so goddamn _pretty_ which is, of course, a problem and a distraction. 

Negan's not a saint by _any_ means, not by a long shot — but to be honest, these past few years, he just hasn't been able to look at anybody in that way.

It's ironic, because that's all he used to do before. He's a man, and men love to fuck. All men. Every goddamn one of them. Young, old, fat, smart, dumb. Negan was no exception, _still_ isn't — he still jacks off to free, low resolution porn regularly like all _sensible_ people, but real sex? Lusting after someone? It wasn't really something he did anymore. 

_Until Carl._

It was like now he couldn't _stop_ thinking about him.

Everywhere he went, everything he did, all he could see in his mind was Carl's long brown hair and pretty fucking girl face. He thinks about his plush lips, the way he had looked when he had fallen apart in his hands and he just can't fucking focus.

At this point he can't even _look_ at Carl without his body defying him, blood rushing to his dick at the mere sight of him, which is an issue, because he has to _teach_ him, and thinking about spiders and your dead grandmother can't save you forever.

It seems like Carl is just testing him at this point. Putting on a show. 

Maybe he's imagining things, but the sway of Carl's hips becomes a little more emphatic, Negan swears he's done something different with his hair — and have his jeans gotten _tighter_?

The bell rings, and it jolts Negan from his thoughts. The kids are already practically sprinting for the door, and he doesn't stop them, just thankful to be alone at this point.

* * *

On the fifth day, Carl decides he's had enough.

At lunch, after a period of gym with absolutely no communication from Negan, not so much as a glance in his direction, he makes his way down the hall and into the health room. 

Carl opens the door, approaching Negan's office, determined to get some answers. The blinds are shut, but he can tell Negan is in there because the lights are on. Also, because he _knows_ Negan.

He knocks twice, and there's a long pause before he hears shuffling from inside. 

After waiting outside for an awkward minute or so, the door flings open, and Negan is standing there, looking at him quizzically, eyebrow cocked. 

Carl doesn't waste any time. He's getting to the bottom of this if it kills him. 

_"Let me in."_

"You're giving _me_ orders now?"

Carl rolls his eyes, and doesn't budge.

Negan sighs, moving away from the door, running his hands through his hair as Carl invites himself in. Negan closes the door behind them, folding his arms.

"It's fucking messy in here."

There are stacks of paper piled high, file cabinets left open, miscellaneous types of gym equipment and uniforms shoved in boxes and under the desk. 

"Hurry it up, kid. I got shit to —"

"You're ignoring me." Carl interrupts. 

_Oh._

Negan rubs at the bridge of his nose. They're gonna do this here? _Now?_

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Carl stands defensively. 

"Uh, I think I said it pretty clearly the first time. You've been ignoring me. Why?" 

"What, you been missin' me?" Negan smirks. "You're a needy little bitch, aren't you?" 

Carl rolls his eyes again. 

"Just answer the question."

"Because," Negan sighs. "Because — what we did was _fucked_ up, and I can't have it happening again. It could get us into some deep shit. It was a mistake, okay?" 

Carl tenses. His fists are clenched at his sides and his chest throbs. 

"Do I regret it?" Negan continues, "Hell no. But it shouldn't have fuckin' happened."

Negan studies Carl's face. His nose is twitching, and he looks angry. Or hurt. Negan realizes it's hurt when sees that Carl's eyes are wet. He doubts they're crocodile tears, and that makes him feel worse. He wants to apologize. 

Since when does Negan _apologize_?

"So what, it's _done_ now? You're gonna stop having me over? Ignore me at school?"

Carl blinks away a tear that threatens to spill. It's a stupid thing to cry about, so he won't. Instead, he turns and stomps toward the door. 

"Fine. Fuck you."

Carl's voice cracks on it, and it would be funny to Negan normally, but right now it isn't. It's not funny at all. 

Negan rolls his eyes while Carl's back is turned before grabbing his arm firmly and pulling him back to where he was standing before.

Carl stays, but refuses to make eye contact in sheer, unadulterated stubbornness.

"Stop being such a goddamn girl about this, okay? Your daddy is the fuckin' sheriff, Carl!" Negan throws his hands up in the air. "He bakes me _cookies_ , for Christ's sake! How do you see this playing out, exactly?"

Negan doesn't bother lowering his voice. His room is on the far end of the building. Nobody can hear them.

It's like talking to a brick wall. Carl doesn't even acknowledge him, but Negan continues anyway.

"Anyone ever finds out about this I'm out a job and getting _ass-fucked_ in prison! And I'll be a monkey's Uncle before I'm crafting shivs out of toothbrushes and shitting in front of an audience!"

Carl rubs at his temples, obviously annoyed. 

" _Who_ do you think is going to find out? I'm not an idiot! What, you think I'd just go run and tell everyone about what we did? Hey, everyone, I'm fucking my gym teacher!"

Thank god nobody can hear this conversation. Carl made sure to lock the door on his way in, for extra measure.  

"Look, I'm sorry." Negan says, dismissively. "Under other circumstances, I'd have you seven different ways to Sunday, and I'm sure you know it. I can't be fucking my students. You're out of school in a year. Maybe then I'll get to have you on my dick, sitting real pretty. But until then, I've got my chastity belt locked."

"Oh my god —" Carl huffs. "Since when do you care about _rules?_ It's not just about messing around! This isn't even about that at all! I just like spending time with you!"

Carl lets his hair fall into his face, shifting anxiously from foot to foot and not quite making eye contact.

 _Oh_.

Negan runs a hand over his face. God, this whole thing is a fucking mess. He almost says that — but Carl gives him a doleful glare and he decides not to.

He stands there, not quite knowing what to say. Negan values this relationship more than he would care to admit. Carl _gets_ him, and upsetting him is honestly the last thing he wants to do. Sure, they bust each other's balls, but this is different.

"You really mean that, kid?"

Carl is indignant, scoffing. "What? Why do you care?"

Negan takes a few cautious steps toward Carl, closer now. Suddenly the room feels way too small. At another time, maybe Negan would have backed away instead; kept his distance and also his morals. But this isn't another time, and Carl's eyes are boring holes into him so he says fuck it.

Negan doesn't reach for Carl, not immediately.

"Look," Negan sighs. "This is royally fucked up. I just want you to know that."

Before Carl can respond, Negan is pressing up against him, kissing him roughly. Carl stumbles a little, but kisses back instinctively before pulling off, ending the kiss as fast as it started.

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?"

Negan seems genuinely surprised when Carl shoves him off, looking at him incredulously.

Negan smiles wide. 

Carl is hesitant about this. There's probably a lot of reasons he should be, but the main one is just that he fears that maybe this is out of pity. Because Negan can't find it in him to send a desperate kid like himself packing. Of course that wouldn't really make sense, because Negan is, well —  _Negan_. But it's a possibility and it hurts to think about it.

"Jesus christ." Carl runs his hands through his hair, obviously distressed.

"Oh, come on. You probably knew I wouldn't be able to stay away for long. You got me wrapped around your little fuckin' finger, don't you, Carl?"

Carl rolls his eyes. Of course he didn't know that.

"Don't tell me you don't fucking know it. You got the looks, got the attitude. We _get_ each other. You're a piece of fuckin' work, just like me, and that gets me hot as hell. Got me jackin' off to the thought of you so hard I might as well be zit faced fourt-fuckin'-teen year old. You want me, Carl? You got me. As long as you know what comes with the territory."

"How was I supposed to know all that?"

Negan looks almost upset now. Carl wants to soothe him like he's done many times before, but the words just don't come out.

"C'mere."

Negan's voice is softer than it usually is, and Carl finds himself moving closer, giving in. He leans in and kisses Negan. He kisses him and doesn't hold back this time, swallowing Negan's snarky laughter and pressing into it impatiently.

Carl snakes his arm behind Negan, reaching up to cradle his neck, and Negan's hands fall to Carl's waist as they continue to kiss again, and again, and again, feverish and desperate, and Negan hopes Carl gets that this is partially a silent apology.

When they pull off of each other to catch their breath, Carl's panting, half hard in his jeans because feeling Negan's strong body pressed against him so closely is enough to send him over the edge. And fighting also kind of turns him on. 

Negan dives back in, taking Carl's bottom lip between his teeth, licking into his mouth, and Carl walks them back, pressing Negan to the wall.

This is good, but it has to end eventually, because kissing alone won't sate Carl and his cock is still filling in his jeans, presence pressing angrily at the front of his pants.

"C'mon," Carl begs. "Move, off —"

"What?" Negan mumbles as he moves to kiss against the hollow of his neck, careful not to leave any marks. 

Carl reaches between them to grab Negan's cock through his jeans, suprised when he finds that he's hard, too.

"Carl," Negan says, his tone is indeterminable but the unmistakeable twitch of his cock isn't, and Carl doesn't bother to hide his smile as he drops to his knees, sinking to the floor.

" _Here? Seriously?"_

"Yeah. I want to blow you." Carl decides.

"Fuck," Negan exhales, contemplating. "Okay." 

Looking up at Negan, Carl noses against his growing buldge, fumbling for the zipper and then hooking his fingers into Negan's pants. He pulls them down, boxers included, in one swift pull.

It's the first time Carl's seen Negan's dick up close. Or any dick besides his own, really. It's intimidating. How is he going to fit all of that inside his mouth?

Carl reaches out to grip him, running his finger along the underside before wrapping a tight fist around it — giving tentative strokes, taking the time to feel him out — smearing precum down the shaft.

Carl is hesitant; Negan can tell. He's about to say something before Carl speaks up.

"I've never, uh — I haven't done this before."

Carl is looking up through his bangs shyly. 

"It's okay, kid. I'll guide you."

Carl nods, continues stroking for a moment with jittery fingers. Negan's cock is heavy and thick and he just hopes that he doesn't throw up on it or something.

"You can pull my hair." Carl says. "I _want_ you to pull my hair."

Hesitantly, he brings his lips to the head, starting with tender kitten licks and broad stripes from base to tip.

Negan groans, hands moving down to tangle in Carl's hair, not pulling just yet, just guiding firmly and Carl leans into it, takes Negan's cock into his mouth, making sure to cover his teeth.

Negan groans when Carl starts sucking in earnest, letting Negan's cock slide in and out wetly, and Negan has to remind himself to stay still.

"Good," Negan praises. "Fuck, just like that."

Carl hums around him, bobbing his head and letting his eyes fall closed, dizzy with how good it feels to be full, to have the thick weight of Negan's cock resting on his tongue.

There's something about doing this _here, now_ , that makes it so much more enjoyable. 

Carl doesn't really know what he's doing — just trying to remember things he's seen from porn and to do what he thinks would feel good and it seems to work; he has his tongue pressed firm against Negan's cock as he moves his head up and down, finding a comfortable rhythm, one that has Negan swallowing down moans.

It's slow, careful. Carl is obviously nervous, fumbling like the blushing virgin he is, but he pushes on, if only for the satisfaction of knowing that _he's_ the one that gets to make Negan feel good.

And _god_ , does he feel good. Carl might be an amateur, but the wet heat of his mouth, hot and pliant around Negan is pure fucking _bliss_.

True to Carl's request, Negan is rough with his hair, taking advantage of it’s length to find a proper handhold, pulling every so often, shuddering when it causes Carl to make pitiful sounds around his cock.

“Fuck," Negan shakily grits out.

Carl opens his eyes, taking as much as he can without gagging, making little muffled sounds, letting Negan's cock hit the back of his throat. When Carl swallows around him, hollowing his cheeks, Negan has to force himself not to fuck into him — which would undoubtedly gag him, instead tugging at Carl's hair to stop himself from thrusting.

Carl moans around him at that, breathing hard through his nose, his cheeks are flushed a delicate pink, a look of determination on his face before he's letting his eyes slip closed again, sucking harder.

Watching Carl's lips stretched around him, taking his cock perfectly is probably he hottest thing Negan has ever seen. What Carl can't take, he covers with his hand, pumping as he works his mouth.

It's not the best Negan has had — not even close — Carl's inexperienced, doesn't really have any technique and has to pull back every once in a while so as not to choke, but it's _so good_. It's good because it's Carl. Carl's mouth and pretty eyes that look up at him through long lashes as he sucks Negan's cock like he's fucking dying for it and Negan feels like he's gotten the air punched out of him.

Carl's legs are spread wide, cock straining in the fabric of his pants and he reaches down to palm himself, moaning around Negan's cock as he lets his jaw go lax, using his tongue as best he can as he bucks into his own hand.

It's fucking obscene, and Negan can't look away; not that he would ever try.

Carl pulls off to reach inside his own pants, pulling his own leaking cock out, smearing a fat bead of pre and starts to jerk himself off before taking Negan's cock again with his free hand, pressing his face into it and smearing the wetness onto his cheek. He takes it back into his mouth, sucking hard, which earns a pleased groan from Negan, so he does it again, sinking his mouth further onto his cock.

Carl can tell that Negan is close, can feel his cock pulsing in his mouth and he's close too, heat coiling inside his belly as he strokes himself in time with the way he's fisting Negan's cock and bobbing his head.

Negan pulls on his hair _hard_ , and Carl spills over his fist, whine muffled by the dick in his mouth, and he pulls off with an obscenely wet pop, lips swollen and shiny with spit, letting Negan's cock drag against his bottom lip.

Before Negan can protest, Carl sits back, hands on his knees.

"Do it on my face."

Negan's breath hitches, and his eyes go very, very wide.

Fuck, it's like Carl was made for him. Some kind of programmed sex robot that just ticks all his fucking boxes. 

But he's not; he's real, and he just asked Negan to come on his fucking face. 

Negan yanks Carl's head back by his hair. He's stroking himself, using Carl's residual spit to aid him as Carl sits back and breathes raggedly, eyes half-lidded and watery. His lips are red and pouty and Negan is afraid he's never going to be able to get off again without revisiting _this_ image. 

Carl's looking at him hazily, still coming down from his orgasm, and Negan only has to pump himself twice before he comes, hard — harder than he ever has, maybe, and Carl flinches slightly as some of it lands on his cheek, above his brow, dripping down onto his closed eye. Carl opens one, the one that doesn't have come dripping from its eyelashes. There's some of it in his hair, some on his lips, trailing to his chin.

"Holy shit." Negan exhales.

Negan nearly passes out when Carl brings a finger up to his face, one that's already coated in his own come, and scoops some of Negan's off of his lips, popping it into his mouth. It's like something you'd see out of an obscene porno, the kind you're ashamed to be watching. 

Carl stuffs his cock back into his pants, zipping himself up and standing on wobbly feet.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

Carl half-shrugs, grimacing at the feeling of come drying on his face.

"You, uh — do you have a napkin, or something?" 

"Yeah." Negan says, still stunned. 

Negan pulls his pants back up, tucks himself inside before reaching into his desk to pull out a packet of baby wipes, handing one to Carl, who begins to wipe the come off of his face. 

"I gotta go. Fourth period starts in five minutes." 

Negan nods, letting Carl fix his crazy sex hair. When he's sure he looks presentable enough, he leans in to kiss Negan on the lips.

"You know when I'll be home. If you want to stop by." Negan says, leading them out of his office. 

"Okay." 

When Carl gets to his math class, he tries his best to act like he wasn't just on his knees, sucking cock. He sits through the lecture quietly, drawing as little attention to himself as possible. 

* * *

Carl stops by Negan's house after school.

It's back to how it always is. They sit on the couch and eat pizza and talk nonsense and it feels _so_ good to have this again. 

They're on the couch, watching Mad Max: Fury Road. Carl's choice — he had picked it up from a Redbox on the way home. 

Carl's phone chimes so he pulls it out of his pocket. It's a message from a guy in his history class. Rob. Or maybe it was John. Something like that; Carl can't remember. They had exhanged numbers after talking briefly. 

He's asking if he wants to go out sometime.

Carl isn't really surprised — this guy has been pretty flirtatious in person. 

If things were different, maybe he would have liked it. Went along with it. Carl used to like it. Flirting with boys his age, thinking about kissing and touching and fucking them. Friends, strangers — giddy at the thought of having a high school relationship. But he's simply not interested anymore. He and Negan's thing wasn't exclusive, or at least he didn't think it was, but Carl doesn't want anyone else. It's almost absurd to think about.

"Rick?" Negan asks, not taking his eyes away from the movie. 

"No," Carl pauses. "A guy from one of my classes. He asked me out." 

Negan turns at that. 

"You like him?"

"Not really, no." Carl says, blankly. "I thought I made that clear, but I guess not."

"Shit, kid. Don't let me stop you from getting some ass. I get it."

Carl laughs. 

"You didn't. I just don't like him. Not my type, I guess."

Negan hums, propping his feet up on the coffee table. As much as he wants to believe that the idea of Carl dating someone, _fucking_ someone, doesn't bother him, it does. 

"What is your type then, huh? This is a small town. I can't imagine you have vast options. Take what you can get, live a little!"

"Why do you care what my type is?" Carl questions. "Hold on, are you jealous?"

Negan scoffs. 

"Don't you have to be home soon?"

Negan checks his watch — it's almost seven.

"Nope," Carl says. "Dad drove upstate to spend a few days with Lori. She had her baby and he wanted to see her."

"You don't?"

Carl laughs. "I've avoided my mom for years. I'm not stopping now."

"So what, you want to stay over tonight?" Negan smiles. "We gonna play house?"

Carl rolls his eyes. He does that a lot. 

"You gonna kick me out?"

Carl knows Negan wont — or at least, he probably won't. Spending the night over seems like nothing compared to the shit they've already done. Maybe it would be a big step in a conventional relationship, but this isn't that. If this was crossing the line, Negan had some seriously backwards morals.

"You can stay," Negan says, a bit hesitantly. "But you're going back home first thing in the morning."

Before Carl can argue, Negan gets up and walks to the kitchen. There's the pitter patter of his bare feet on hard wood and then the microwave is being opened. 

Three minutes later, Negan comes back with a bowl of buttered popcorn and they share it in silence, focusing on the screen and eating peacefully.

It's midnight when they're finished. Two and a half more movies later, Carl's eyelids feel heavy and he's leaning his head on Negan's shoulder, trying his damndest to focus on Winona Ryder and not the flips his stomach is doing. 

This feels weirdly like a date. 

Negan yawns, shutting the movie off. He pats Carl's hand under the blanket. 

"Up."

Carl stands, letting Negan lead him down the hall as he shuts off all the lights. Then, he's being guided into Negan's bedroom. 

Being in here feels weird. It's set up completely now; no more boxes. Carl has actually never seen it like this before, apart from the times he'd spied from his window. 

Still, it's a different feeling. A strange one.

Negan kicks his shoes off, following with his pants and shirt, stripping down to nothing but his boxers.

Carl follows, but leaves his shirt on. They both climb in bed, nestling under the covers. Negan turns to face him. It's silent for a few moments. 

"This is fucked up." 

"I don't care. My life was fucked up _way_ before I met you."

Negan snorts. "Makes two of us. Still, though. You could be living life like a normal kid instead of whatever the hell this is."

"I'm fine with this. Honestly."

Negan hums.

Carl isn't often one to say things out loud, though he guesses he should. Repressing emotions is normality and bottling up anger, fear, and resentment is familiarity in the sense that it's just what he was taught to do.

Lori and Rick instilled it into him with their incessant passive aggressive fighting — even _before_ the coma they would consistently avoid their marital issues, bottling things up until they just couldn't anymore, resulting in explosive arguments; the smashing dishes kind of arguments that would keep Carl up late into the night, ad nauseam.

But with Negan the words just tumble out, Carl says what he feels before he can stop himself and feels lighter because of it. Negan doesn't judge — he listens and understands.

Negan's bed is a safe haven, the smell of him on the sheets making Carl feel dizzy like he has the flu so he talks about nothing and everything, and Negan gives it right back. 

It's only when his body feels like a pile of stones does he realize just how tired he is. Carl hopes Negan had no plans to fool around, because he's five seconds away from being lights out, _and_ his jaw is sore.

Negan seems to notice, shutting off the bedside table lamp and shifts, closing his eyes.

"Get some sleep, kid." 

Carl lets the the wave of exhaustion pull him under.

It's the best sleep he's gotten in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry this took a little longer than expected to get out but i hope you enjoy it! things have been hectic and i haven't really felt in the mood to write but i finally found some time and i'm back with another chapter. i also just want to say that i appreciate the love i've been getting for this fic your comments and kudos truly mean the world to me so please remember to let me know if you like it! thank you thank you!


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